The Quesadilla Determination

Now...follow me here, I'm about to turn my brain inside out to ensure Things Are All Alright.

As you'll know, since I restarted the Disappearing Man effort in serious earnest some weeks ago, I have been doing three weigh-ins a day every Tuesday - one pre-bathroom, pre-walk, one pre-bathroom post-walk, and one post-bathroom, post-walk.

Quite why I've been doing this is a bit of a mystery, because I always then end up taking the first figure as the official weigh-in for the week. Of course, my pal Wendy thinks I just have a bit of a weighing fetish. I refuse to justify such an idea with a refutation, just in case it turns out to be actually irrefutable.

Today though, I'm forced to consider the wisdom or otherwise of knowingly taking a weight that is recorded before nature and digestion have had a chance to even my metabolic paying field. I'm forced to do so by quesadillas.

Last night, for dinner, d made quesadillas. You're probably familiar with them - toasted tortilla sandwiches, in essence. Gorgeous little beasts, but very moreish. I took perhaps rather too many more, before going to bed.

So when I weighed in this morning, pre-everything, I recorded 18st 3.25. Down just 1.5lb on last week.

Went walking, and weighed in again, this time at 18st 2lb.
When finally moved by the passage of time to use the bathroom, I did my third weigh-in, and was down to 18st 1.5lb. So - if we assume that the 1.25lb that disappeared on the walk is not a genuine or representative loss, but the half-pound from the bathroom was definitely no longer part of me, then I lost my regulation two pounds this week.

But am I going to assume such a thing?
No. That way, mathematical madness lies. What I have learned today - or re-learned, rather, as I used to know it before - is the importance of what one eats on a Monday night in terms of one's calculations (or indeed machinations) on a Tuesday morning. I'm fighting every sneaky instinct in my own brain that says "Hmm, that means you could cut yourself some slack for some of the week, then starve yourself on Mondays..."

Sigh - sometimes my brain just needs a good slap. The truth, quesadillas or no quesadillas, is that today's like-for-like weigh-in has me only 1.5lb down on last week, at 18st 3.25. And on we go. Still means that I'm on target to see a 17 two weeks from today. I look forward to that day with what might be described as a lively anticipation.

Odd day tomorrow. My friend Sian has a Mother. Not a mother, you understand, a Mother. One of those maternal powerhouses that imprint their personality on a whole generation of friends, and who retains, even into the adulthood of those friends, a sense of "Do not under any circumstances fuck with me". She appears to be really rather unwell, and has been taken into hospital. Which, given her general squeezy bollockhold on the life-force is worrying enough to have me taking a day's leave and taking off across the country - to Tunbridge Bloody Wells of all places - to see her. Essentially, it's a London Ubercommute day...with knobs on. Much Starbucks on the way, I feel...